Sink or Swim
by RantWaitingToHappen
Summary: Mike forgets his password. What? Mike never forgets anything. Ever. He has an eidetic memory for Gods sake! So what's wrong with him? Deep stuff! Slash/bromance! H/C! Caring!Harvey!
1. Chapter 1

**A.N. Ideas keep popping into my head _ I'm not happy about that, but here it is guys, another Suits fic! **

**Chapter One. **

For as long as he could remember, Mike had always had the ability to memorize any one thing he read or saw. All this information-even the useless stuff-was stored in his brain. Billboards, ads, fliers, graphic novels, texts, numbers on his phone, all the great American novels, every Algebra, English, History, Civics, Precal, and well, any text book he'd ever received in high school. Laws, documents and files he read for Harvey, profiles of clients for the firm, numbers in dollar and percentage forms of their clients extensive wealth-well, you got the point. Eidetic memory. Mike had it.

So when one early Monday morning, Mike sat at his desk in the bullpen, turned on his computer, and his mind blanked completely on the password, it was only reasonable he panic. Just a little.

He went through his mind bank quickly, at first, then again, taking his time, going through everything stored in his head in their own separate categories. Maybe he'd misplaced the password somewhere in there? He'd never done this. He remembered his very first password for his very first account on a computer when he was fifteen: Mike101. Very cliche' and relatively simple. So how was it he couldn't for the life of him recall his password for a computer he'd been working on tirelessly just last Friday night?

"Something the matter, boy wonder?" Harvey had stepped into the building, taken the elevator up to his office, and from a distance, had seen his associate staring hard at the screen of his bright computer, brow furrowed.

Mike started, and looked up at the older man. "Uh, yeah." he said dumbly, "I..." he paused, not quite sure how to say this without sounding stupid. "I forgot my password." he decided to just get it over with and hope Harvey would fix the situation with his magic-lawyer powers.

Harvey raised a brow, "Did you check the hint?"

Mike shook his head, "I didn't write one in."

"Why not?"

Mike shrugged. "I've never had to. I always write it down, memorize it, and throw the paper our afterward."

"Oh right, eidetic memory." Harvey looked down at his associate, who looked more like a lost puppy now than he'd ever seen him before. "Guess all that weed finally killed off a few important brain cells, kid." he leaned in as he said this, in a lowered mocking tone, so none of the other early bird associates would hear.

Mike glared at his boss. "This isn't funny Harvey. This has never happened to me."

Harvey cracked a smirk. "I'm sure plenty of girls have heard that in your bed before Mike."

On a regular day that would have gotten a dry 'Oh ha ha.' from the young man, but today was not a regular day. He couldn't remember something he typed in every morning at work.

"Harvey, I'm serious." Mike put his head in his hands, went over more information tucked inside his brain, skimmed through files and texts and large amounts of numbers. Nothing.

Harvey suddenly realized Mikes' genuine despair, and chose to take pitty on the kid. "It's Ross999, Mike." he reminded him. "Everyone in the office knows it." he added, at Mikes 'How do you know that?' stare.

"Oh...yeah." Mike typed it in, and his screen displayed his account. "Thanks."

Harvey rolled his eyes as he left, shouting "Anderson files! In my office! In a half hour!"

Mike sat there for several more minutes, images of words and numbers and pictures and people and events suddenly coursing through his head at light speed. Then sound blurred into the images.

_That one time he'd passed by that one street and seen that one flier posted to that window. There was a girl in front of him who had stopped to glance at the flier, she was listening to music on her i pod, bobbing her head along to the beat, God her hair was so red. It had been chilly that day, Mike could feel the cold seep through his light sweater, he hadn't been expecting the abrupt weather change when he'd stepped out of his apartment that morning. Your typical youthful couple jogging, two dogs on leashes brushed past him. He'd heard their voices. "I bought this new yogurt at the deli." Heard one of the large dogs bark. The clouds darkened the sky, a drop of rain fell on his face, then quickly, it escalated, the steady pitter patter of rain falling rapidly and-_

"Hey! Anderson case, Mike, I asked for it a half hour ago." Harvey sighed exasperatedly. "What's up with you today?"

Mike glanced up, shocked that he'd let time slip by so easily. His head hurt though. He'd never remembered anything quite so vividly. He remembered things that had been written down and even the faces of people and numbers and so on, never had he remembered the smell or sound or taste or feel of anything the way he had just now. "Umm, it's-sorry Harvey, computer problems." he stuttered out, hoping the senior partner would drop it.

Harvey scrutinized Mike for a moment. "Are you alright?" The kid looked on edge. "Does this have something to do with Trevor?" he glared at his associate.

"What? No." Mike denied haughtily. "It's nothing, I'll have the loophole for the Anderson case at your desk in a few minutes." He digressed.

Harvey rolled his eyes, "Don't make me come back here."

"'Don't make me come back here'." Mike mocked as he walked away.

"Heard that!" he called out.

It was Mikes turn to roll his eyes.

Later that day Mikes head ache persisted but it was relatively manageable, so Mike rode through it as he sat in court, next to their client, watching as Harvey questioned a witness on the stand and drew the captivated jury in easily.

As Harvey recited a line in the law book, Mikes brain instantly went into overdrive, reciting the entire page, then the entire chapter, that the line had been written in. He felt as if he were stuck in that commercial about Internet search overload, where people just spouted random semi-relevant things they'd come across. Except, thank the Lord, he wasn't quoting the entire book out loud. Just in his head.

Mike discretely grit his teeth, his head was pounding, pounding, pounding, none stop. Quotes having to do with law started popping into his head.

_Laws or ordinances unobserved, or partially attended to, had better never have been made._

_GEORGE WASHINGTON, letter to James Madison, Mar. 31, 1787_

_The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread._

_ANATOLE FRANCE, The Red Lily_

"Law is an imperfect profession in which success can rarely be achieved without some sacrifice of principle. Thus all practicing lawyers - and most others in the profession - will necessarily be imperfect, especially in the eyes of young idealists. There is no perfect justice, just as there is no absolute in ethics. But there is perfect injustice, and we know it when we see it. Alan Dershowitz, letters to a Young Lawyer"

"Very well said Mister Ross." The judge, a kindly-looking African American woman with a smirk on her lips, said, then addressed the jury. "What Mister Ross quoted is an excellent example of-"

She continued to speak, but the buzzing in Mikes ears made it impossible to hear her at all. Oh God. Harvey was going to kill him. He was just glad that what ever he'd just spouted had been relevant to their case.

What was wrong with him?

"What is _wrong _with you?" Harvey hissed, once they got into the limo, as he slammed the door shut.

Well isn't that todays million dollar question? Mike thought sourly, wincing when all the game shows he'd ever watched came back into his mind full force, quirky announcers grinning, _"This is the Price is Right!" "The Wheel of Fortune!" "Do you want to be a Millionaire?" _It was becoming relentless.

"I don't know." he finally responded, sounding at a loss.

"What do you mean? Did you decide it would be fun to risk both our asses and the case over a redundant quote? You're damn lucky Judge Matthews has a soft spot for rookies." Harvey reprimanded, very pissed off at his associate.

Ray cringed in the front seat for the poor kid.

"Sorry." he muttered, trying to keep the ever stubborn head ache at bay.

"You've apologized what? Three times today?"

"Twice." Mike corrected automatically, his mind instantly recalling when and why he'd apologized so far today in excruciating detail.

Harvey glared at him. "That was rhetorical Mike."

"Rhetorical, expressed in terms intended to persuade or impress." Mike recited on cue.

Harvey got madder, if that was possible. "Ray, stop the damn car." He demanded, and practically shoved Mike out the door when he did. "You want to be a smart ass after almost costing me a case, be a smart ass who's walking the rest of the way to work." He slammed the door and told a reluctant Ray to keep going.

Mike stood there, shocked for a moment, before the clouds opened up and rain poured on him. Weather forecasts, channels, Internet pages, phone alerts, stormed into his head the moment the first drop of rain hit the ground.

The news, the channels the news played on, the television programs, the line up, the schedule, the guide, the shows he'd recorded on TV four months ago, television, the x box games he used to play on the small screen at Trevor's, Trevor, his crooked smile, the first time they'd met, they were in school, school, he'd dropped out of college, he'd had two professors he'd really liked, Davidson and Vroom, one had a patch of dark, thick black hair, he was tall and dignified, the other was to the contrary, very short, petite, fair skinned, strawberry blond hair, elderly.

Mike knelt on the ground in the middle of New York, head in his hands, trying frantically to make all the reel in his head turn off, cease, stop, please. It was too much.

Rain soaked him to the bone. In the busy cluttered streets of New York City no one bothered to stop and help the associate. People passed him by, barely spared him a glance.

Melanie, a catholic school girl from St. Marys' all girls high school, backpack over her head in a feeble attempt to shield herself from the harsh falling rain, was running across the street when she spotted the blonde man in the soaked suit, on his knees, looking extremely pale and in pain.

"Hey Mister, are you okay?" Melanie sighed. Dumb question-more instinct than anything at this point, really. "Umm, look, do you have anyone I can call for you?" He wasn't responding, panting through what seemed to be a massive amount of agony, instead. "Okay, I'm going to call 9-1-1 okay? They'll take you to the hospital." she took out her cell phone and nervously dialed the number that connected her to a dispatch operator on the other end of the line. "Hello? Uh, I need an ambulance, like stat," she gave the woman the street and number, and continued. "There's this guy-no, I don't know him-but he's really out of it. Umm, I don't know, like, maybe his early twenties?"

Melanie heard sirens and her heart leaped with relief. "Oh God, yeah, they're here." she spoke into her phone.

By the time the paramedics shoved the associate into the ambulance, Mike was very well unconscious. "C-can I come?" the fourteen year-old picked up the mans messenger bag and strapped it over her shoulder, along with her school bag, and hopped into the back of the ambulance as soon as the paramedics said she could.

In the hospital waiting room, Melanie had a chance to calm down and sort things out. Although she'd been taught never to invade another persons privacy, she had no other choice but to rummage through the messenger bag. Finding his wallet she saw that his name was Michael Ross, and that he apparently worked for some law firm called Pearson Hardman.

She dug further into his bag and found a cell phone. She went through the contacts.

**1. Care Center Grammy**

**2. Harvey Specter**

**3. Pearson Hardman**

_Huh_. "How curious." she muttered. She'd never come across anyone with so few contacts, frankly. _The only reasonable contact to call_, she thought, _is this Harvey Specter guy._ "Sounds fancy," Melanie murmured to herself, as she pressed call and waited for someone to pick up.

"Mike, it's been over a half an hour, it doesn't take that damn long to walk to the office from the court house."

Melanie blinked. Maybe she'd chosen the wrong person to dial after all. She cleared her throat. "Hi...this is Melanie Ramos, I uh...who are you to Michael Ross?" she inquired, wanting to make sure she wasn't telling some douche bag unnecessary information.

On the end of the line, Harvey felt himself go rigid. "Where the hell is Mike? I'm Michael Ross' boss. What happened to him?"

The alarm she heard in his voice was sincere enough that Melanie decided to tell him what had happened. "I found him on the streets, he was looking really really bad, so I called an ambulance, he's unconscious, I'm not really sure what's wrong with him, but umm, we're at Christ Hospital, if you want to, I don't know, make sure he's okay." she finished awkwardly, not sure what else to say.

Harvey was already in the limo with Ray on his way to the hospital by the time she was done speaking. "Thank you Melanie, I'll be right there." he hung up the phone and ran his fingers through his finely combed hair.

"_Shit_." he cursed.

**A.N. Won't lie, this isn't going to be a happy story, but it will involve lots of comfort in the form of caring!Harvey, so yeah. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. I apologize right now from the get go about all the medical errors in this fic. I tried my best to get things to, at the very least, sound plausible, ya' know? Also, please bare through the extensive info (sorry if it's boring to you, but I think it's necessary to explain all these things in order to better follow the story!) **

**Any how, I was very pleased with all of your feedback, and pleasantly surprised with all the favorites and story alerts this story acquired, so thank you all so so much(it really does mean a lot more than I can say in words, guys, seriously)-I feel as if people have high expectations for this fic, so I hope not to disappoint. **

**Any suggestions are welcome, I wrote this at 4 in the morning, so I wasn't exactly coherent, just ran with a VERY VAGUE idea. Frankly, some of your comments actually influence where I take a lot of my stories. So, yeah, feel free to put your input! Alright, on with the story. **

**Chapter Two. **

Melanie untied her braids and let the wet strands fall over her shoulders. Untied, her dark hair was curly and spoofed up, framing her small, round face gently. It was late in the day now, but she wanted to stay and find out what had happened to Michael, and there really was no one at home waiting for her arrival anyway.

She took off her soaked navy blue blazer and folded it neatly on a seat above her backpack and Michaels messenger bag. She had continued to peak through his things, a growing curiosity in her to find out as much as she could about the young man in that hospital room behind closed doors eating away at her. Melanie found that if the two had perhaps met under better, different circumstances, she and the lawyer would surely get along splendidly. Beneath the papers for work, hid a worn paperback novel. "_The Great Gatsby_." she recited the title out loud with a fond smile. "Now this is a page-turner." she muttered under her breath, as she opened the book and started flipping through it. This looked to be an old copy.

And indeed it looked as if this Michael Ross fellow had turned the pages over about half a million times over the years. Essential lines in the story were high lighted and he'd written small notes on a few pages here and there. Melanie set the novel aside and continued to dig through his messenger bag, feeling admittedly guilty for doing so, but genuine curiosity getting the best of her. What was that saying again? Curiosity killed the cat.

Inside the bag, she found a pack of trident layered gum, a black and gray colored skinny tie-which, she thought, suited the man, from what she'd been able to see of him before he'd been wheeled away into the ER-a multitude of pens and pencils, a small notepad that oddly resembled the one used in Blues' Clues, and oh, what was this? Melanie came across a a folded in, nearly torn pocket in the messenger bag and reached in, taking out an old, weary, but what looked to be, a precious photograph.

Melanie treated it as such, holding it with the very tips of her fingers placed at the corners. It was a lovely family portrait. A petite, beautiful woman with striking blue eyes and dark blond hair and a sincere smile looked back at her. A man had his arm wrapped around her shoulder with care, he had a strong chin and gentle eyes, a laid back grin gracing his features. Between them a toddler, aged about three or four, sat looking up at his parents, a wide toothy smile on his cherubic little face, tuffs of blond hair sticking up.

Feeling like an intruder, suddenly, Melanie delicately placed the photograph back inside the pocket of the old messenger bag. She organized Michaels objects back into the bag as well, just as a tall man with dark worried eyes practically ran into the waiting room. Something about his mere presence commandeered an ordinance, Melanie thought. Maybe it was the pin striped, well-tailored suit, or the Italian shoes, maybe it was the way his hair was styled, or that certain something like a strut in his step?

Behind him, a slimmer figure appeared-a woman in high heeled stilettos, a pencil, knee high skirt, and a pale blouse that only made her red hair stand out all the more. Melanie thought she looked that much more fierce than the man, but with her heart on her sleeve, as she noted almost immediately how worried the red-head was.

"Michael Ross, where is he located?" Harvey demanded as soon as he reached the desk.

The youthful nurse, however, didn't seem to be cooperating much with the senior partner. "Sir, that information is disclosed to family members. If you'll sit and wait for a doctor to talk to you, I'm sure things will be cleared up." she didn't bother looking up at the man, continued to type away instead.

Melanie stood up, gathering her things and Mikes bag as she neared the two. "Hi, Harvey Specter?" she asked.

Harvey noted the voice and his associates messenger bag instantly. "Melanie?" he had been expecting someone...older. Possibly a college student. But a kid?

The frizzy haired girl nodded, "They took Michael into the ER probably five to ten minutes before I called you? I haven't heard anything yet."

"No news is good news." Donna told herself, glancing worriedly back at the ER doors. "You're the girl who called 9-1-1?" she inquired, leading the fourteen year-old back to the seats while Harvey paced back and forth like mad.

Melanie nodded again. "Sorry, who are you?"

"Oh, Donna," she introduced quickly, "And you must be new to the city of New York?" Donna made conversation; she was nervous and conversation helped quell that feeling of helplessness threatening to overwhelm her every time she glanced back at the doors of the emergency room.

Melanie blinked, "I am new." she replied, surprised. "I moved here recently from Ohio. Why?"

"Well, no seasoned New Yorker would stop to help someone in need-we're all too cynical. 'What if it's a ruse? What if I get close enough and he steals my purse?' you know?" Donna rambled. "So, Ohio, huh? What brings you to Manhattan, hon?"

Melanie shrugged. "All the Starbucks?"

Harvey paused, raised a brow at the girl, and was about to join the conversation when a pair of doctors, one in scrubs, the other in a white lab coat, came out of the ER doors, and spotting the girl who'd arrived with their patient, they walked up to her and the two adults.

"Mr. Ross' sister, yes? You're the one who came in the ambulance with the patient?" The tall woman in scrubs with dirty blond hair addressed Melanie.

Harvey stepped in, "Yes, and we're close friends of Mike. What's going on with him?" he knew they wouldn't get any relevant information if a family member wasn't present, and was glad Melanie played along, nodding, gripping her 'brothers' messenger bag tight, standing up along with Donna to hear news of Mike.

"I'm Dr. Zane, I treated Michael when he was brought into the ER, he was in a lot of pain; he had to be sedated, he was thrashing so hard. We did an MRI and a cat-scan, after which we called in a consultant, Dr. Wells."

The male doctor in a lab coat stepped up, raised his thick rimmed glasses, faced Harvey. "I'm a neurologist, I specialize in the pathology of the brain, and after looking at the results of the tests, I'm more or less convinced Mr. Ross is suffering from, what is in simple terms, a 'brain overload'. He has an eidetic memory. *Imagine being able to memorize an entire sheet of Russian vocabulary, a list of math equations, or the window arrangement on a large building just by observing it for a few seconds. These are the abilities associated with eidetic imagery, more commonly known as photographic memory.

"Eidetic imagery has been defined as 'the ability to retain an accurate, detailed visual image of a complex scene or pattern... or see an image that is an exact copy of the original sensory experience'. People capable of eidetic memory, or eidetikers, are therefore able to recall vivid images within their mind and examine these images as one would examine a photograph." the neurologist explained. "The wealth of media in modern life means the average person is bombarded with enough information every day to overload a laptop computer. Through email, the Internet, television and other media, people are deluged with around 100,500 words a day – equivalent to 23 words per second."

Dr. Wells paused, letting the three persons take it all in, then continued. "Think about it; being Mr. Ross, all these things stored in your mind automatically, it's as natural as breathing to someone with an eidetic memory. More than that, I believe Michaels' ability has actually evolved beyond a simple 'photographic' type memory, which is not just rare, but unheard of." he awed. "I believe what he is experiencing right now are the side effect of his newly acquired ability-this is called a superior autobiographical memory. It isn't a common thing, in fact, only a handful of people have been diagnosed with this in the world."

"Superior autobiographical memory? What is that?" Harvey asked, Donna leaning next to him, the same curiosity and concern written all over her face. Harvey had always been fascinated by his associates impeccable capability to memorize most anything he saw after only looking at it for a few seconds, but had never really given much thought to how an eidetics' mind worked until now.

"And why is it hurting him?" Melanie piped up, eyes wide as she listened to the doctors explanation.

"To answer the first question, a superior autobiographical memory, or S.A.M., to abbreviate, basically signifies that Michael can remember almost every day of his life vividly and accurately. A day 10 years ago is as clear to him as yesterday is to you or me. That is not to say he can no longer memorize other things as he had been doing so before; this actually increases those abilities by tenfold." Dr. Wells clarified. "As for why he's experiencing so much pain right now, that's due to the drastic change in the hippocampus-"

Donna furrowed her brows. "Alright, that sounds like a word my five year old niece would invent in kindergarten."

Dr. Wells smiled at the redhead. "The hippocampus is a major component of the brains of humans. It belongs to the limbic system and plays important roles in the consolidation of information from short-term memory to long-term memory and spatial navigation. In short, it's where his memories are technically stored. Right now, it's developing at a rapid pace, and Michael is having a hard time dealing with this tremendous change."

Harvey gaped. "So what now? Is he still in pain?"

"Not anymore, we have him on pain medication, and for now, since this case had never actually presented itself-none that have been documented, at any rate-I propose we keep him for observation and once he's coherent enough and out of sedation, a psychologist and I can help Mr. Ross deal with this new phenomenon. For now, I'm sorry to say, it's all we really can do, considering we're not a hundred percent sure of our diagnosis, although the cat-scan seems to support it." he finished concisely.

Once the two doctors left the three to stew over the news, Harvey sat down. He wasn't sure what to think about this. Honestly, his only concern was that Mike wasn't hurting anymore. To think he'd shoved him out of the car, just before rain and hailstorm of memories assaulted the poor kid.

How had this day escalated in such a drastic fashion?

**A.N. Again, I'm sorry for all errors, both grammatically, spelling wise, and medically, as well. And also sorry if this chapter wasn't as entertaining as you guys had hoped, I had to get a lot of info out, which is no excuse not to let it out with some flourish here and there, but yeah, I'm no good at that. **

**Still, as I said before, any suggestions, comments, pointing out of errors, feedback, anything at all, just review and if it happens to be a question (I can answer) or suggestion, I will be sure to reply as soon as I have the time. Btw, a simple 'Update soon, I like this so far' anything along those terms is seriously appreciated (if you do feel that way!) because this story is actually taking a lot out of me, since I'm not exactly sure where it's headed and I suck with medical stuff. **

**Knowing you guys like it enough to take the time to review really does encourage me. Thank you all so much. **

***Information was taken from these three sources: **

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>.com2010/12/20/marilu-henner-60-minutes-super-memory/  
>.eduexchange/node/1693


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N. I'm sooo sooo sorry for the long waits in between chapters for my stories and for this short chapter, as well!**

**Chapter Three.**

Mike felt as if he were drowning. The drugs in his system were keeping most of the pain from his migraine at bay, but they were also impeding him from waking up fully. Unconscious, his mind had time to wander and memories of more than a decade ago continued to surface; things he'd much rather have stayed forgotten...

_"Nate had been wounded on the battlefield-the healer came, she saved him from the mistress that was death. He didn't get better. The healer worried for his life. She spoke to him, asked what was causing such sorrows; why did he not wish to fight for his own life? Nate told her, after much prodding, that he had failed the men whom had given their lives on the field, said that his companion thought so too. Jacob Lisbon, an honorable man-he had not yet come to visit._

_"Nate feared he had lost his friends' respect. The healer went in search of this man, to settle the troubles of her patient. His fears proved to be for nothing-Jacob had been shot in the battle and pronounced dead, hours before Nate was brought in for medical treatment to heal from his extensive injuries. The healer came to the man and told him of her findings, with great empathy for the warrior. Nate died of a broken heart the very next morning."_

_Mike pursed his lips and blinked with owlish blue eyes. _

_Bartleby had been spouting off tragic stories for the past two and half hours. So far, none of the main characters had survived the plagues of trouble life had thrust at them, and Mike doubted that would change anytime soon._

_"Lilly was a happy girl." he began, after a pregnant pause, and Mike blinked again, wondering whether or not it was a good sign, that Bartleby had chosen to start one of his stories off on a good note. "She felt sick, and fainted in the school yard after lunch one day. Mom and Dad, they took her to the hospital-the doctor sighed sadly, and announced with great melancholy that the nine year-old had cancer. It was terminal, and the parents cried with discontent and heart-break._

_"She lost all of her pretty blond hair after the chemo began, and then she cried too. She died after a few short miserable months, and Mom hung her miserable self on the apple tree outside their front yard. The neighbors gawked at the miserable sight, and Dad couldn't bring himself to bury another body, and so he kept her corpse in pieces, in separate brown, cardboard boxes in the basement. No one called him on it. He drowneded-" Bartleby paused, and looked Mike straight in the eye, "Drowned?"_

_Mike nodded._

_"He drowned his other two kids. A gorgeous seven year old, and a handsome eleven year-old. He ate a bullet, and no one could sell the tainted house after that, so it stayed empty and desolate, because no one can live in a house where a child has died. It is not right. Not right." he shook his head, as his hands played with a loose string on Mikes' blood red hood. After a few minutes, he spoke again:_

_"Adam got Heather pregnant, and left to Arizona, to continue his studies. Heather killed the baby boy, because he looked so God damn much like fucking Adam that it just pissed her off. It was not the baby's fault, but he got the blame anyway, and paid with his life. Heather took a trip to Arizona, stabbed Adam to death with a butter knife, sobbed and laughed at the same time. She choked on her own tears and died of a horrible, unspeakable despair." Bartleby stood up abruptly, and his lips quivered, looking as if he were going to cry himself at any moment, "What a terrible shame!" he yelled, "What a great loss! What a God damn shame!" he repeated, over and over, until Mike stood up, and put his arms around the taller boy, and agreed, sincerely, "Yes, what an awful shame." _

_He rubbed circles on Baretlebys' back, to sooth him, and got him to sit on the white bed, and lay contently against him, his breathing evening out slowly. They stayed like this, until Bartleby fell into a deep slumber, against his brothers warm shoulder. Mike let out a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding onto, and carefully laid his older brother on the bed, pulling up the covers, to tuck him in. The nurse, Abigail, walked into the clad white room, and smiled sadly at the sight, "Logging out?" she asked softly, seeing that the patient was asleep._

_"Yeah." Mike ran a weary hand through thick locks of dirty blond hair, kissed his brothers forehead gently one last time, before getting up and following the nurse back to the desk in the main lobby, near the entrance of the mental ward._

Mike looked far too small in that hospital bed. Harvey sat on a horribly uncomfortable plastic chair next to said bed and absentmindedly played with his associates' limp hand, tracing up and down each finger, counting the lines etched upon his palm with precision.

Donna had left with Ray a while ago to take Melanie home. Her father, who worked late shifts at a plant, had been worried sick when his only daughter hadn't shown up by the time he'd gotten home, at nearly nine o' clock. Harvey looked at the watch on his wrist; 10:24pm. An IV was dangling on his other arm, attached to his wrist, pumping morphine throughout Mikes' system. Harvey wondered briefly how this new 'ability' would affect Mike. Quite frankly, he hadn't thought much of it when the doctor had mentioned the 'hyperthymesia'-which was the specific term for what Mike was experiencing currently.

Baby blues dazedly looked up at a full head of brown hair. "Harvey?"

The senior partner started and quickly let go of the blonds' hand. "How do you feel?" he asked, after clearing out his throat.

Mike blinked, looked around the room wearily, and shuddered. "What am I doing here?" he answered with another question. Mike had mixed feelings about hospitals, and right now being in one was plain old making him uncomfortable.

"You passed out, genius." Harvey replied with more bite than he'd intended, and cursed himself for it. "Some school kid called for an ambulance when she saw you in the middle of the street spazzing. Turns out you have what's called a superior autobiographical memory. Which is exactly what it sounds like." Harvey said, and then went on to explain what the doctor had told him only a few hours earlier.

"Oh," Mike uttered, upon hearing the whole story. "That's what all that was..."

Harvey sat up, "That's why you started spouting out all that random crap at the court house, wasn't it? You couldn't control it." He felt awful for having kicked him out of that car after that incident; had he let Mike explain himself-Harvey shook his head, no point in wondering about 'might have's. "How do you feel?" he repeated his previous question, which had gone unanswered.

"Better," Mike sat up a little and rubbed at his corneas. "Just a light head ache."

"Doctor said migraines and headaches shouldn't be uncommon for the next few days." Harvey hovered over Mikes' hospital bed. "Why didn't you tell me about all the uh...sudden memories in your head?" he couldn't find a better way to describe what Mike must have been going through all day and ended up stumbling over his words.

Mike raised a brow, "Uh, yeah, because 'Harvey, I keep remembering in vivid detail and movement insignificant shit that happened over the course of like a decade ago?' would fly so well at the office, I'm sure." the sarcasm in the associates' tone was not lost to Harvey Specter, who scowled at the blond.

"Well, either way, I probably shouldn't have kicked you out of the limo in the middle of the street."

"Whoa," Mike feigned a gasp. "Is that an apology I hear from the great Harvey Specter? Wait a minute, let me get my phone out to record this grandiose moment—no wait, let me call Donna, she needs to see this live."

Harvey snorted. "Dream on; I don't _do _apologies—not that I need to in the first place. I hope you realize this is all actually your fault for not telling me something weird was going on with you in the first place. So—" Harvey paused mid word and gaped. "Are you—are you crying? I—I'm sorry, look, Mike, I'm sorry, I'm apologizing, I'll even tell Donna I did and—"

Mike had the palms of his hands over his eyes, tears sliding down his face rapidly. "No," he said; breathe hitching as he fought to gain control. "S'not you," he attempted with futile efforts to stop the tears, his lower lip trembling. "It's...a memory...an old one." The onslaught of the memory from so long ago had hit him like a ton of bricks.

Harvey started at this. Was it the hyperthymesia that was causing him to outright cry? Was he in pain? The doctor had told him Mike would experience mild to severe pain from a sudden onset of his autobiographical memory until he could control it properly. Or, could it be the memory itself? The kid was young—Harvey doubted he'd experienced anything so tragic in his life before that could really make him react the way he—_shit_, Harvey thought; Mikes' parents had died when he was still a child, hadn't they? That had to be the cause of his current misery. What was it, Harvey couldn't help but wonder, was it the memory of the funeral, of the accident?

Instead of over analyzing the whole thing, Harvey pulled Mike into a very awkward kind of half-embrace.

The memory had been far too vibrant, too vivid, and too fucking _real_. Mike felt like that adolescent kid again, sitting there next to his brother on that white bed in that white room, going crazy himself. Harveys' arms around him were unexpected. More unexpected was that Mike leaned into Harveys' chest, burrowing his head in the crevice between his neck and shoulder.


End file.
